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At the end of the day you realize that you have so many things to be grateful for:
The memories of youth, the fine black guitar and the dark old vicarage
If it wasn’t for the poignant cold sensation in the chest and the rasping sound as the heart stumbles in time with “my heart will go on and on” by Celine Dion
Or for the feeling of uneasiness as you hear the tiny boy who once lived behind the pupil of the eye calling from the box with toy china: Where have you gone so long? Where have you gone so long?
Or for the vultures that arrive floating accompanied by aircrafts full of spice and wine already drunk and minded for an easy victim
Or for the toes being eaten by molecular changed quilts inflamed by artificial intelligence
Or for the phone not ringing but sobbing like an accordion in a tunnel through deaths manic grinding mill of dark holes
Or for the sulkiness of giraffes pressing their nose against the floors of glass under Ikea after closing time where you prowl about trying to sound like tinnitus within carps

I loved this Peter! especially:

Or for the sulkiness of giraffes pressing their nose against the floors of glass under Ikea after closing time where you prowl about trying to sound like tinnitus within carps

...which immediately conjured up an image of a woman in a short skirt, looking down at her long legs/giraffes reflected in the shiny tile floors of Ikea. I'm still working on the sound 'like tinnitus within carps', but expect to crack it by midnight.